


Finding my way back (to you)

by SmilinStar



Category: The Tomorrow People (2013)
Genre: Astrid & Stephen friendship, F/M, Hints of John/Cara and Cara/Stephen, Post series finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 07:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1595900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilinStar/pseuds/SmilinStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He holds out his hand, “I'm John.” She grabs hold and shakes once, “Astrid.” He hears the faintest of bells somewhere far off in the distance, but ignores it in preference of letting her name roll off the tip of his tongue, “It's nice to meet you Astrid.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding my way back (to you)

**Author's Note:**

> So yes, they cancelled the show. No surprises there. But still, I am going to miss these two and especially John, who was a brilliant character and deserved better. This will probably be the last I write for this ship, unless inspiration strikes somewhere down the line.

 

 

\-----

 

She watches as Stephen pulls on the other woman's leather jacket, tugging her away a mere few metres with a “Can you just excuse us for one minute?”

 

She's not really given the opportunity to answer and thinks the question was a wasted breath; words he shouldn't have uttered if she was never really going to be given a choice about how she should feel.

 

She's not really surprised by it though.

 

She's used to words being thrown around carelessly. Promises made for the sole purpose of breaking them.

 

_When I kiss you next time, it's not going to be because the world's ending._

Lie.

 

_I promise I'll make it up to you._

Liar.

 

Stephen's attempts at hushed whispering are horrendous, and she can hear the words, “We are not dragging her into this!” just fine. Not that that's all she hears. No, she hears the frantic plea in his voice, the anger and the fear that tinges every syllable too.

 

It's the fear that puzzles her.

 

“It's the only way.”

 

Cara's voice is stern as always. The ever present sense of 'I'm right, and I'm going to make you see it' and a little bit of 'I can argue with you all day, but I'm still going to win.'

 

“That's bullshit and you know it.”

 

“Stephen, we need her.”

 

“I'm not letting her get hurt.”

 

“She won't, we'll be there with her, protecting-”

 

“That's not what I meant and you know it.”

 

And she's starting to get the sinking feeling that she knows exactly what, and more likely _who_ this is about.

 

Two years.

 

Nearly two whole damn years, and she hates that it still hurts.

 

She hates the power he has over her.

 

John fucking Young.

 

She sees that smile on his face all over again, and remembers the feel of his lips on her hand. A promise in his words and his touch.

 

And then he was gone.

 

Not a word. Not a glimpse. Nothing.

 

It was like he'd been wiped out of existence.

 

That was until Cara had started getting bursts of his thoughts and conversations, and from there had sprung renewed hope that he was alive, and could still be found and rescued from Jedikiah's evil clutches. Except, as the months wore on, and the search grew colder, the more likely it seemed that the former Ultra leader had managed to stow John away for whatever nefarious purpose and had managed to hide him just like he had Roger for all those years.

 

“Stephen,” Cara says again, “We've got to try.”

 

Having had enough of standing on the sidelines, she finds she can do nothing to prevent the irritated huff that leaves her lips, “You know, I might not have telepathy or super-hearing or anything, but my human ears are working perfectly fine thank you, and I can hear every word you're saying.”

 

That stops them.

 

Cara looks back at her wide eyed.

 

Stephen, apologetic.

 

She looks between the two of them and then raises her shoulders in a semi shrug, “So?”

 

“We've found John.”

 

Cara simply blurts it out and she's rather thankful for the 'rip the band-aid off fast approach.' It's like a fierce punch to the gut. It stuns and hurts like hell, but at least it doesn't last long.

 

They walk back towards her. Stephen stops right next to her, his side brushing with her arm and she's not sure how she feels about this show of over-protectiveness.

 

She'd figured it had been something to do with him the minute the two of them had started their rather ineffective whispering, but somehow she still can't help the surprised, “What?” from leaving her lips.

 

“We've found John.”

 

So many questions. How? Where? When? What happened? Why? Why had he just disappeared like that? The words mesh into one big startled laugh, and a shake of her head, “I can't believe this.”

 

“Astrid,” Stephen says, and his voice holds that edge, that edge that forms an endless pit in her stomach, and makes her mind run from zero to sixty to worst case scenario.

 

She feels the bile rise in her throat when he grabs hold of her arms and faces her head on.

 

“Is he ok?” she asks, holding her breath for the answer.

 

“He's alive, but Astrid, it's not good.”

 

“Why? What do you mean?”

 

“We were right, Jedikiah's been behind the whole thing. He's done something to him. He's not the John we remember and nor are we anyone he remembers.”

 

The words don't register until she turns her confused expression on Cara and literally watches as her impassive exterior breaks just a fraction and there is nothing but heartbreak reflecting back at her.

 

“Hang on, wait a minute,” she says, her mind reeling back a few seconds and latching on to one thought, “What do you mean, we were right and behind what thing?”

 

He rubs a hand across his face, but it doesn't do anything to wipe away the stain of guilt.

 

“Stephen?” she prompts.

 

He sighs, “We actually made contact with him a few months ago.”

 

“And you just, what? Couldn't be bothered to tell me?”

 

“I didn't want you getting hurt all over again, especially if it was all for nothing!”

 

He lowers his voice, hands reaching up to her shoulders now, “I just remember what he meant to you and how much it upset you when he disappeared.”

 

She's struggling to look at him, and turns away. It's the wrong thing to do. Swinging her head up, her gaze collides with Cara's. What she sees is a reminder that she doesn't really have a right to be this upset. She and John had what? A few flirtatious encounters, a couple of heat of the moment kisses (never mind that time actually stood still for them), and sure, they saved each other's lives a bunch of times, but in the scheme of things? What was it really, to the years of history between John and Cara?

 

And so she buries it, plasters on the bravest smile she can muster and says firmly, “I'm not upset Stephen. Two years is a long time. We were never really anything serious. Sure, I cared about him. We all did. I'm over it, but that doesn't mean I don't want him back safe, or that I appreciate being kept out of the loop because you, quite incorrectly I might add, assume I can't handle it.”

 

She sees his resolve crumble and silently, metaphorically, pats herself on the back for her well executed lie.

 

Because that's exactly what it was. A lie.

 

“Fine.”

 

“Good. So now, tell me what I can do to help.”

 

\-----

 

As far as missions went, this one was pretty simple.

 

Flirt a little, plant a tiny bug and if Jedikiah's intel about this guy and his predilection for young blonde women was correct, then they'd have just the kind of incriminating evidence they were looking for. Perfect for blackmail or simply saving for a rainy day and selling to the highest bidder.

 

It was more super spy than super soldier.

 

It had been so mind-numbingly easy, he'd managed to get it done within the first half hour of arriving at the gala. After delivering the good news and switching off the comms, he really should have walked on out of there, and he had been about to do just that when a mass of curls and a soft, warm body collided right into him.

 

Which brought him to the here and now, standing in the middle of the newest exhibition at the Met, his stolen tux covered in red wine, and a stammering, mortified young woman standing in front of him.

 

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I can't believe I just did that, I am so so _so_ sorry.”

 

Wiping his hand down his shirt, he tries to shake out some of the wine that hadn't yet settled into the fabric and irreparably stained it.

 

“Oh no, look at your shirt,” she says, “Let me go get some napkins.”

 

“Hey, no look, it's fine. I never really liked this shirt anyway.”

 

He tries smiling at her, and he's not sure but when she finally looks up at him and meets his eyes, the curve of his lips falters. He's doesn't know what it is, but it feels a lot like the ground beneath his feet has just shifted infinitesimally, and he thinks she felt it too.

 

He shakes his head. Stupid. He's being stupid.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Hi,” she says, and there's a blush on her cheeks and a small smile on her lips, that doesn't reach her eyes and cries only deep sadness.

 

She's beautiful.

 

Something stirs in his chest. Its the oddest sensation. It's new, nothing he's felt before but at the same time, it feels like something he knows, something he knew a long time ago but it was simply misplaced.

 

“Again, I am so sorry about your shirt. It was my fault completely, I wasn't looking where I was going-”

 

“Well, neither was I so it wouldn't be right for me to hold it against you.”

 

She laughs a little and smiles up shyly at him, “I guess not, no.”

 

He holds out his hand, “I'm John.”

 

She grabs hold and shakes once, “Astrid.”

 

He hears the faintest of bells somewhere far off in the distance, but ignores it in preference of letting her name roll off the tip of his tongue, “It's nice to meet you Astrid.”

 

She looks down at her feet and then back up again, and he's utterly charmed by the flutter of her eyelashes and the warmth in her eyes when she asks, “Well John, can I buy you another drink?”

 

“You really don't have to, but if it makes you feel better and you insist-”

 

“Oh I do insist, definitely insist.”

 

“Then how could I say no?”

 

“Right answer.”

 

There's an alarming comfort in sitting next to her at the bar, and that in itself should raise his suspicions but he finds he doesn't care.

 

There's something about her he's missing.

 

And maybe it's not even _about_ her, but _her_ herself.

 

She laughs again at something he's said, not that he even remembers. He's too busy staring at her lips, the curve of neck where it meets her bare shoulder and he really, really wants to lean forward and bury his face there, leaving a trail of kisses up behind her ear, fingers getting tangled up in her wild curls.

 

It looks like he's in luck, because she seems to be on the same page as her own eyes dart down and fixate on his lips.

 

He doesn't have to hear the words, he read them just fine, “Do you want to get out of here?”

 

He doesn't answer her yes. He just lets her grab hold of his hand and lead him out of there.

 

\-----

 

They were hedging their bets on her.

 

Plain human Astrid against Super Soldier RoboJohn.

 

She'd been sceptical, but Cara was convinced that the John they knew and loved was still somewhere underneath his emotionless mind-wiped exterior, and all he needed was a familiar face to dredge up even a tiny fraction of those old feelings and the glass would crack just enough to shatter.

 

Apparently, neither Cara nor Stephen were options as Jedikiah had made damn sure John knew exactly who they were. As part of his crazy plan for world-domination he had even sent John on a mission six months ago to recruit them into his scheme.

 

And that was when they'd learned the truth of what had happened.

 

Six months was also a long enough time for them to have been working secretly behind the scenes on a way to reverse what had been done to him. It had been a long and arduous process, but finally, _finally,_ Irene had made a break through a few days before they'd broken the news to Astrid.

 

Which of course led to this ridiculous plan to capture John Young.

 

Dressed in a stunning black ball gown (stolen, courtesy of Russell, and remarkably tasteful considering who procured it), Astrid had walked into the Metropolitan Museum of Art, feeling completely ill at ease and awkward, with Stephen's pep talk running through her head. _Just relax. Be yourself. We're going to be right there with you and you're going to be completely safe._

 

It hadn't taken her long to spot him. He looked different. Hair neatly styled, just a hint of stubble and dressed in a well-fitted tuxedo. He didn't look anything like the John she remembered - rough around the edges, a grin never too far from gracing his lips and a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. He was still beautiful though, and she had to remind herself to breathe every now and again, and ignore the ghost of his lips on hers.

 

It had been surprisingly easy orchestrating the meeting. The old 'spill a drink on them' routine hadn't even batted an eyelid. Maintaining her cover sat there next to him, flirting as if nothing had ever changed and that this was the same man she had fallen in love with, had been another story altogether.

 

There were moments when she thought she'd saw glimpses of recognition in his eyes, but she imagined it was more wishful thinking.

 

As the conversation wore on and his eyes had started drifting to her lips, roving all over her exposed skin, she knew she had got to him.

 

When the words, “Do you want to get out of here?” slip out of her mouth easily, eagerly, she's not sure she even remembers what the mission is.

 

\-----

 

He kisses her before she manages to get the door open.

 

She's struggling with the keycard, fumbling to get it out of her bag and then getting it to sit right in the slot.

 

He stands behind her, as close as he possibly can without touching.

 

He can't explain the pull. It's crazy and he thinks all his training should have alarm bells ringing in his head, telling him that this woman was dangerous. He didn't have time for this. There was only the mission and nothing else was of consequence.

 

But he wanted this. Just this one thing and Jedikiah would have to understand. And so he lets his head drop, lips brushing over the smooth, silky skin of her shoulder.

 

He feels the shudder run through her and knows that its all him.

 

He kisses her skin again, lips pressing more firmly, confidently, trailing up along the curve of her shoulder to her neck, just as he'd been aching to do all evening.

 

She somehow manages to push the door open and turn to face him.

 

The look in her eyes is enough to stop his breath still in his chest. There is a sadness there he'd noticed earlier but had chosen not to delve into. It's there again now and it feels almost like she'd reached into his own chest cavity, gripped his heart with her own bare hand and squeezed.

 

He reaches up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing across her skin.

 

The words “What's wrong?” there on his lips, remaining unsaid as he wonders why he cares so much about this stranger.

 

He could read her thoughts if he truly wanted to know, he thinks, but something in him screams, _wrong, wrong, wrong._

 

She smiles at him through a sheen of tears and then reaches up, her lips on his and everything else melts away and it just feels _right._

 

Her hands pull on the lapels of his jacket, tugging him into the room.

 

He follows willingly, lips never leaving hers, hands wrapping around her waist pulling her close, his foot kicking the door shut behind them.

 

Her own hands make quick work of his jacket, pushing it up and over his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. She does away with his bow tie as well and mumbles something about it being ridiculous against his lips. He smiles into her skin as he lets his lips wander across the skin of her cheek and she lets her head fall to the side with a sigh.

 

“This is crazy,” she says on a laugh.

 

He nuzzles her neck and shakes his head, “I disagree. This is-”

 

He struggles to find the words, and she laughs again, pulling away so she can straighten up and look back at him. His grip on her tightens, not wanting to let go.

 

Her hands reach up to frame his face and this time its her running her fingers along his jawline, brushing against the stubble. She looks up at him, gaze holding his, and there it is again. That feeling in his chest and before he can even think on it, her lips are back on his, soft, pliant and insistent. Her hand reaches around to grab the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the overgrown hairs at his nape, when he feels it, the coldness of the ring on her finger.

 

Its too late to understand the sharp jolt or make sense of the softly spoken, “I'm sorry John.”

 

He barely even hears the words before it all goes black.

 

\-----

 

It's six days of agony. There is literally nothing to do but wait.

 

Following Irene's initial round of therapy, and it turning out to be entirely ineffectual, they have no choice but to put John under as she worked out the kinks in her cure.

 

They know they're working on limited time.

 

Jedikiah was on the hunt for his most prized possession and this was the only shot they had of getting him back.

 

“Anything yet?” Astrid asks Stephen, and it's the fifth time in as many days that those two words have been uttered.

 

And again, Stephen shakes his head sadly, but there's hope in his words, “We're close. Irene's worked up another formula, she thinks it'll work this time. We'll know in a couple of hours. We'll get him back Astrid. I really think we've got it this time.”

 

She nods her head. His words should inspire hope, but she's heard the same thing numerous times already, and she's learned to hold her breath.

 

Poor, sweet Stephen. Trying his best to as always reassure, keep everyone and everything going when morale amongst the Tomorrow People was at an all time low. John would have been humbled to know how much he meant to his people. The old adage 'you don't know what you've got until its gone' never ringing more true.

 

There's a heavy pensive expression on her best friend's face and he is so terribly easy to read. It's almost ironic that she doesn't have the power of telepathy, nor has she ever really needed it with him.

 

“It won't change how Cara feels about you,” she says.

 

He looks up at her, surprised.

 

She shrugs, a gentle smile on her lips.

 

He shakes his head and laughs, “We've known each other too long.”

 

“Yes we have.”

 

The smile drops away from his face, turning more serious when he looks back at her, “You know, I don't think I've apologised yet for putting you in that position with John.”

 

“What position?”

 

“Putting you in harm's way to catch him.”

 

“I'm a big girl Stephen, I knew what I was doing, no one forced me into anything, and besides-

She doesn't get to finish her sentence, as Russell comes rushing in to the room at that moment, practically squealing like a damn eager puppy about something he's just discovered using TIM's upgraded system, that is just so damn cool and, “Dude, you have to see this now!”

 

Stephen turns to give her an apologetic smile, mouthing the words “I'm sorry” as Russell drags him out.

 

She's left alone then, with nothing but the remainder of her sentence echoing in her head.

 

_If that's all I'll ever get, I'll take it in a heartbeat._

 

\-----

 

It's well past two in the morning when it finally happens.

 

She hasn't been able to sleep, which isn't anything new, not since the world ended (however briefly it may have been).

 

It's not surprising that she finds herself wandering down to the lab where John slept on. It's where she found herself most nights since Cara and Stephen had teleported them both back from that hotel room.

 

The lights are dimmed and there's just a soft hum from the all the medical equipment around her. The gentle rise and fall of John's chest is the only reassurance she has that he's still alive.

 

Grabbing a stool, she sets it beside him and lets her hand slip into his.

 

A couple of hours is what they'd told her. It had already been six hours past that, and Irene's dejected face had been enough to tell her that it hadn't worked this time either.

 

He looks entirely at peace. His handsome face motionless, a week's worth of stubble on his jaw and not a single crease of worry marring his forehead.

 

_I miss you,_ she wants to say but doesn't.

_It's really stupid, I'm stupid and I don't even know how I let this happen, but_

“I love you.”

 

She laughs. The sound of it so loud in the silence. It's harsh and awful and damn it, she's actually crying.

 

_I love you._

The words rattle in her skull, and she hates how pathetic she sounds when she says, “You promised.”

 

_You promised, you bastard. You promised._

She's so caught up in her thoughts, she almost misses the twitch of his fingers in her hand.

 

“John?”

 

She thinks she's going crazy, losing her mind, but the grip on her hand is getting stronger, and no she did not just imagine his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a feather light caress.

 

“John?” She stands up, pushing the stool out behind her, the metal legs scraping across the ground, “John, can you hear me?”

 

She reaches over, lifting the hair away from his forehead.

 

His eyes blink open and she thinks it has to mean something that the first thing he sees is her.

 

There's a warning in her head screaming what if it isn't him? What if it didn't work?

 

But standing there staring into his blue eyes, she just knows. _She knows._

 

His lips move next, and the voice that comes out is hoarse with disuse, but the words he speaks are still the most beautiful thing she's ever heard, “You're not stupid.”

 

She's so caught up in the moment, shocked by the fact he's awake and he's _him_ , it takes her a moment to follow.

 

“Did you just . . . ?”

 

“Read your mind?” he asks, and though she knows he's exhausted even after being knocked out cold for several days, he still manages to give her a lopsided grin and she thinks she's falling in love all over again.

 

She shakes her head, and she knows she's smiling but damn if its probably not ruined by the stream of tears running down her face.

 

“I'm sorry,” he says.

 

And she knows he's apologising for a multitude of things, and she hopes he knows that he never really needed her forgiveness in the first place.

 

Instead she whispers back, “Not your fault.”

 

She squeezes his hand one more time, “I'm going to get the others. Irene needs to check you over.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Don't disappear on me again.”

 

“I won't.”

 

“Okay.”

 

And because she can't help herself, and he's there and alive and back to being John Young, she leans over and places a soft kiss on his forehead, before slipping away.

 

She stops at the door, when she hears him call out to her.

 

“Astrid?”

 

“Yeah?” she asks, turning back around to look at him.

 

“I love you too.”

 

She'd been wrong earlier.

 

_If that's all she ever gets, she'll take it in a heartbeat._

 

 

**End.**

 

 

 

 


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